LETTER XVI.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
I wish you were to have seen the look with which the worthy Mr.Clendinning met me, as I rode up the avenue to M-------- house.
To put an end at once to his impertinent surmises, curiosity, andsuspicion, which I evidently saw lurking in his keen eye, I madea display of my fractured arm, which I still wore in a sling; andnaturally enough accounted for my absence, by alleging that a fallfrom my horse, and a fractured limb had obliged me to accept the humaneattentions of a gentleman, near whose house the accident had happened,and whose guest and patient I had since been. Mr. Clendinning affectedthe tone of regret and condolence, with some appropriate suppositions ofwhat his lord would feel when he learnt the unfortunate circumstance.
“In a word, Mr. Clendinning,” said I, “I do not choose my father’sfeelings should be called in question on a matter which is now of noill consequence; and as there is not the least occasion to render himunhappy to no purpose, I must insist that you neither write nor mentionthe circumstance to him on any account.”
Mr. Clendinning bowed obedience, and I contrived to ratify his promiseby certain inuendoes; for, as he is well aware many of his villanieshave reached my ear, he hates and fears me with all his soul.
My first inquiry was for letters. I found two from my father, and one,only one, from you.
My father writes in his usual style. His first is merely an epistleadmonitory; full of prudent axioms, and fatherly solicitudes. The secondinforms me that his journey to Ireland is deferred for a month or sixweeks, on account of my brother’s marriage with the heiress of therichest banker in the city. It is written in his best style, and abrilliant flow of spirit pervades every line. In the plenitude of hisjoy all _my_ sins are forgiven; he even talks of terminating my exilesooner than I had any reason to suspect: and he playfully adds, “ofchanging my banishment into slavery”--“knowing from experience thatprovided my shackles are woven by the rosy fingers of beauty, I can wearthem patiently and pleasurably enough. In short,” he adds, “I have aconnexion in my eye, for you, not less brilliant in point of fortunethan that your brother has made; and which will enable you to forswearyour Coke, and burn your Blackstone.”
In fact, the spirit of matrimonial establishment seems to have takensuch complete possession of my speculating _dad_, that it would by nomeans surprise me though he were on the point of sacrificing at theHymenial altar himself. You know he has more than once, in a frolic,passed for my elder brother; and certainly has more sensibility thanshould belong to _forty-five_. Nor should I at all wonder if someinsinuating coquette should one day or other _sentimentalize_ him intoa Platonic passion, which would terminate _in the old way_. I have,however, indulged in a little triumph at his expense, and have answeredhim in a strain of apathetic content--that habit and reason haveperfectly reconciled me to my present mode of life, which leaves mewithout a wish to change it.
Now for your letter. With respect to the advice you demand, I have onlyto repeat the opinion already advanced that------ But with respect tothat you give me--
“Go bid physicians preach our veins to health,
And with an argument new set a pulse.”
And as for your prediction--of this be certain, that I am too hackneyedin _les affaires du cour_, ever to fall in love beyond all redemptionwith any woman in existence. And even this little Irish girl, with allher witcheries, is to me a subject of philosophical analysis, ratherthan amatory discussion.
You ask me if I am not disgusted with her brogue? If she had one, Idoubt not but I should? but the accent to which we English apply thatterm, is here generally confined to the lower orders of society; andI certainly believe, that purer and more grammatical English is spokengenerally through Ireland than in any part of England whatever; for hereyou are never shocked by the barbarous unintelligible dialect peculiarto each shire in England. As to Glorvina, an aptitude to learn languagesis, you know, peculiar to her country; but in her it is a decided andstriking talent: even her Italian is, “_la lingua Toscana nel boccaRomana,”_ and her English, grammatically correct, and elegantly pure, isspoken with an accent that could never denote her country. But itis certain, that in _that_ accent there is a species of langour verydistinct from the brevity of ours. Yet (to me at least) it only rendersthe lovely speaker more interesting. A simple question from her lipseems rather tenderly to solicit, than abruptly to demand. Her everyrequest is a soft supplication and when she stoops to entreaty, thereis in her voice and manner such an energy of supplication, that whileshe places _your_ power to grant in the most ostensible light toyourself, you are insensibly vanquished by that soft persuasion whosemelting meekness bestows your fancied exaltation. Her sweet-tonedmellifluous voice, is always sighed forth rather below than above itsnatural pitch, and her mellowed, softened, mode of articulation is butimperfectly expressed by the _susaro susingando_, or _coaxy murmurs_ ofItalian persuasion.
To Father John, who is the first and most general linguist I ever met,she stands highly indebted; but to Nature, and her own ambition toexcel, still more.
I am now but six hours in this solitary and deserted mansion, where Ifeel as though I reigned the very king of desolation. Let me hear fromyou by return.
Adieu.
H. M